Chapter 4

He wasn't sure how long he had slept. When he woke, the sun seemed to have reached its apex. Judging by that, Lazar assumed he had been out for only for an hour or so.

'I see the sun,' he suddenly realized. He was out of Dead Thicket. Someone had taken his unconscious body and moved it who knows where. It was probably his assailant, he thought.

Looking around a little, he noticed he was resting on a grassy mat in a rocky nook. Leaning over the edge, his face blanched as he noted the distance from his spot to the ground of the Dead Thicket. Venturing a completely wild guess, he assumed he must be somewhere along the range of the Grey Mountains.

A twig snapped.

Quickly, he flew to the far end of the nook, trying to squeeze himself into the wide corner.

"Ah!" It said, seemingly in as much surprise as he was. "I was expecting you to wake up soon," It spoke, It's voice distinctly feminine, but there was something off about it, something not entirely natural. As It brought itself into full view, Lazar studied It.

In general form, It seemed to take on the appearance of a woman, if but a woman of the likes he had never seen. It was tall, at least a head taller than himself, and from the skin that showed from beneath Its gear, he could tell It was, or had been, tanned at one point. Its hair was dark, probably black, and appeared of a thicker and different texture than anyone he knew around Novograd or even all of Lightwood. Its arms, and from what he could tell, Its legs as well, seemed to be constructed of some sort of crude, ugly prosthetics. Above all, It wore a mask with markings in an almost tribal pattern. The only part of Its face that he could see was its mouth and the tip of its nose, the lips on its face being fuller and distinctly feminine in form.

"Why have you brought me here?" Lazar asked.

"You were injured," It stated matter-of-factly

"Err… I'm better now. Will you let me go home?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Wh-what? Why not?" Lazar asked, somewhat in disbelief

"Well, by now you've probably realized I'm not exactly one of your loyal League members."

"I can plainly see that. I might've been 'injured,' but I'm not blind."

"Then you must think me for a fool."

"Me? Think you dimwitted? Never!" Lazar said with a tone of sarcasm.

"Then surely you've figured out the reason on your own. If I let you free, you'd run off and tell all your League friends about me, and then they'd hunt me down with their pitchforks."

Lazar had to give it credit. It got his plan pretty much spot on. A silence fell between them. It moved further into the nook and sat itself down. Then, it pulled out several strange objects and began to work on something. It seemed as though It was fidgeting around with Its leg, or something of the sort. Lazar watched it work in silence, trying to figure out what It was doing by himself. After was felt like a long enough silence, Lazar mustered the courage to break it and ask It himself.

"So, what is it that you're doing?" Lazar asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I'm repairing my leg," It replied bluntly.

"With a screwdriver?"

"And other tools."

"You're using a screwdriver on your leg."

"Well, yeah. I was injured, and the power of the Light doesn't quite seem to work on my limbs, but it did wonders on my chest," It said with a sort of regretful tone, adding the last bit as an almost happy afterthought.

"You were hurt?"

"Obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here in these mountains alone with you."

"On that note, how did you manage to get all the way over here?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" It snapped, green eyes flashing in annoyance as It resumed more concentrated work on its leg. Once again, silence fell between them. Lazar sat there, his had still brimming with different thoughts. Not wanting the silence to continue for as long as it had before, Lazar once again voiced his thoughts.

"So, does this mean that you're one of those Empire Zombies, or whatever they're called?" He asked, this time somewhat more timidly.

"We are not zombies. We are the Zem, or the Arisen, as our Empire compatriots prefer to call us," It snapped back, placing a strong emphasis on the "not."

"Oh," was all Lazar could really think of to say. Suddenly, all the horror stories of the Arisen his friends had faced in the field of battle came back to mind. He blanched at the thought that he was sitting mere feet away from one. It seemed to notice him stiffen.

"And I don't know what silly stories the League filled your head with, but I assure you, that propaganda is probably just as absurd as our own about you elves."

"Wait, you have stories about us?" He asked curiously, but still quite afraid. He wasn't sure if It was just trying to get him to lower his guard before attacking him, or something of the sort.

"Of course. What country doesn't have propaganda when at war?" She stated, as if it was something you were just born knowing. "You just need to be able to tell the difference between fact and fiction. We use it to help instill loyalty in the people back at home," She said, finishing with a softer, but proud, tone.

Lazar looked at her, still slightly distrustful, but starting to warm up to her presence. She still seemed rather intimidating to him, with her strange appearance, but she seemed a little more human than she seemed a few hours ago. She had been injured. She was not infallible. The Empire, as it turns, might not be full of the liars, thugs, and criminal scum that the League had made them out to be. A small smile skittered across his face as he thought.

"Could we make a deal?" Lazar hazarded to ask.

"Hmm?"

"I'll keep your secret better if you allow me to return home. My friends will become suspicious if I stay out here any later, and I doubt they would believe me if I even suggest that you could have infiltrated our border."

"I'll consider your proposition," she said, an unreadable smile playing across her decayed lips. "Perhaps. If you also agree to return here every day, should I need provisions from the town I could send you to get them. On that condition, I'll let you return."

Lazar grinned in relief. The zombie, no, the Arisen, was letting him go! He, Lazar Wolf, a mere Elven bard, bargained with an Arisen and procured his life and his freedom.

"I'll return to you tomorrow!" he told her, eager to get home before the sun set even lower in the sky.

"Now, if you're going to preserve your 'alibi' and my safety, you better hurry up and get back home. Go!" She told him, urging him to get out of her sight. Not wanting to wait for her to change her mind, Lazar got up and quickly fled from the nook. As he entered into the Dead Thicket below, he began to recognize things, certain trees and rocks and fallen logs. He knew where he was! That Arisen really knew how to use the resources the environment gave her; he had to give her that.

Before long, he was back on the path he had taken yesterday. The fading sunlight was skewing the shadows, twisting the trees into long, strange parodies of what they had been. Before long, the walls of Novograd rose up against the purple sky, and he made his way back home.